“I won’t detain you,” replied Curtis quickly. “I am on my way to bed now. Has every one retired?”
“Yes, sir.” Herman busied himself closing one of the long French windows opening on the veranda and bolting the other four. “Mr. Armstrong has just come back.”
Curtis paused on his way to the door. “Mr. Armstrong,” he repeated, inquiringly. “Mr. Gerald Armstrong?”
“Yes, sir.” Herman dusted off his hands with a deprecatory gesture. “He told me, sir, that he missed his train, so he came back, sir, to spend the night.”
“Oh!” Curtis’ ejaculation covered doubt. He caught and wondered at the badly suppressed excitement in the butler’s usually unemotional voice. “Where is Mr. Armstrong?”
“He went straight to his old room, sir; he hadn’t taken away his things.” Herman switched off two of the tall standing lamps, leaving the room in semidarkness. “Said I need not disturb Mrs. Meredith to tell her of his arrival. Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”
“No, thanks.” Curtis reached the doorway and turned around. “Good night, Herman.”
“Good night, sir.” Herman watched the tall, erect figure pass into the hall, a glint of admiration in his eyes. “He beats all,” he muttered under his breath, then devoted his attention to closing the house.
As Curtis reached the staircase a thought struck him and he hesitated. Why not get Herman to refill his cigarette case from the stock which John Meredith had kept for his guests? He swung around and had partially retraced his steps when he paused abruptly. He had caught the sound of heavy breathing on his right, then light, receding footsteps.
“Herman?” His low call met with no response, and after a moment’s wait he returned to the staircase and slowly mounted it, his cane swinging at a convenient angle in his right hand. It was leaded and made an excellent club in an emergency.